Translation
by LawGrad07
Summary: A News!verse snippit that concerns Sere Krios' efforts to bridge the language barrier between himself and Shepard. This moment happens a fair bit later on in News's story line, but there're no major spoilers for the rest of the plot in here. Just a little romantic gesture in the midst of war.


Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is Bioware's. Everything else is mine.

A/N: Welcome to a little snippet from a later time in News's timeline! There're no spoilers from the main story in this chapter at all. It's just a little romantic moment/gesture in the midst of war that I wanted to share with you all because I love you and you're lovely and deserve it because I write **SO SLOW**! xD When News's timeline finds this moment I'll fold this standalone into the story-proper, and post it with a new chapter's worth of content to go with it (since I've already written this one :3).

For people new to News and it's story line, **HI**! Hello, yes _welcome_ :3 All you really need to know to understand what's happening here is that our dear Thane is not poorly anymore :) The science is explained in News's first chapter, so give it a peek if you're lost.

I hope you enjoy!

Yours faithfully,

 _L.G_

* * *

Translation

 _ **In which Thane expresses his affection for his Siha in a slightly new, old way**_

The Normandy coasted, gentle and silent in the orbit of Acaeria as it had for the past three days. Today, like yesterday and the day before that, saw Commander Amial Shepard leave her quarters to preside over the first of the three eight hour shifts she kept in constant rotation aboard her ship. The second was her designated 'downtime', and the third saw her retake the deck from Garrus, who kept things running in her absence.

These changes, these swappings-over, repeated like clockwork and created a rhythm with which the crew had become accustomed to working. It was like background noise...like the engines...the periodic comings and goings of colleagues...or the occasional volley of banter between Helmsman Moreau and EDI broadcast 'accidentally' across the public comms channel.

So constant was this rhythm that no one really paid attention to it unless it was distorted to so great an extent that they couldn't not. But the passing of silent feet? Moving from the Life Support plant towards the elevator at 1110 instead of making their usual journey to the mess? No one noticed such a minor ripple being made against the morning routine. The passage of a single crewman up to the first floor? This too was so regular an occurrence that no one truly paid it mind. Nothing, to those around him, seemed at all out of the ordinary. But to Thane Krios, making his way up to his Siha's quarters, something about today felt most definitely odd.

Now, Thane knew himself to be nigh on impossible to intimidate. Of course he'd his moments; moments when a carefully laid plan would hit an unforeseen problem, and a lightning fast re-evaluation and evasive action were required to avert disaster. In those moments he had felt panic prickling under his skin, adrenaline racing through his veins and the now absent pulling burn of exhausted lungs screaming for oxygen as clearly as any man in his place would have.

But intimidation?

Never once in his adult life.

Yet as he stood sequestered in the washroom adjoining his mate's quarters, staring at himself in the mirror above the sink, he concluded that the uneasy weight in his belly felt _distinctly_ like the beginnings of that scarce encountered sensation. And he knew that he only had himself to blame for his disquiet, for it was he, not Shepard, who had decided to try and convey his feelings for her in a new and yet, old, way.

Before he had hit upon his particularly brilliant, yet astoundingly difficult to pull-off idea, he had spent days immersed in literature of various kinds trying to tease out an appropriate way to express himself to her. Every conceivable kind of gift was considered; from delicate chains to drape about her neck...to perfumes...rare foods...even new, indulgently luxurious pillows for their bed...but nothing, in the end, passed muster. Nothing felt personal enough, for each and every item he came across had not been made by _him_. Buying her something, he concluded, would be more an exercise for his credit chit than one of self-expression, and _that_ would not do.

Material gifts having failed him, he considered poetry, but knew from the beginning that this too would be an inappropriate medium. Even if he could find words to pen that would translate appropriately between their languages and their cultures, he knew his Siha to be too modest a woman to find stanzas detailing how he gloried in her presence appealing. Although the work would carry his most personal truths, for Gods how he loved her, she would better know that love through his touch and presence than through written words.

Pondering this conclusion gave him pause. Since she would best know his love if its expression came directly from his person...through a touch...a kiss...through his gaze...indeed, from his very presence...could he not give something of himself, literally of himself, to her as an expression of that love?

He considered this idea carefully, wanting to select a part of himself that he had yet to share with his mate entirely as the aspect through which he would endeavour to bring them closer together. Given their intimacy, both physically and otherwise, this was quite the task. It took three full days of contemplation for his eureka moment to hit, and when it did he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. Through all their time together, it was something that had never once been shared.

His voice. His natural, un-translated, right and proper voice.

And thus, his plan was made. He would speak to her, tell her of his feelings, and better yet, do it not in his native tongue, leaving her clueless as to his meaning, but in _hers_.

...

Admittedly, this was a tall order. For all his education and wordiness, Thane had never even considered learning a language outside of his native Drellish and the creole the Drell use to communicate with the Hanar. There was simply no need to learn, what with the ease with which one could procure a translator. Despite this though, he was resolved to try.

Thus, as Thane stood within the washroom, there was no gift or trinket sitting on the shelf between mirror and sink before him. His gaze, as it flickered down, lit instead upon a thumb-tip sized silver disc. It was his universal translator, discarded and turned off, sitting where it would remain until his gift was given.

...

If his nerve lasted, that is.

As memory served, he had every right to be a little prickly about this venture.

The first time he had actually tried speaking a couple of words in Shepard's mother tongue, his throat had been sent through such contortions that he'd spent a good quarter of the hour he had apportioned to the task fighting the urge to cough.

While it may have been the case that he had never tried to speak English before that moment, his pride deigned his first abortive attempt at doing so utterly shameful, and his lack of ability actually made him question whether trying at all was wise.

Whether it was even possible.

He was not a man to give up on a task easily, especially one that was self-appointed, but the translation program he had procured and installed on his Omni-tool to test his burgeoning skill had, on that first attempt, recognised not a syllable. He'd been arguing with it for days now, and had finally abandoned the truculent thing on the Commander's desk just moments before squirreling himself away for this much-needed rehearsal.

Thane met his reflection's gaze in the mirror, forcing away thoughts of his past failures. They would only work to discourage him, and discouraging influences could not be allowed to interfere with his work. He was resolved, difficulties be damned, to keep trying until he was satisfied he'd done all he could.

 _Practice_ , he assured himself, _will make it easier_.

It would have to.

With a soft huff and a quick wetting of the lips, Thane repeated the phrase he wished to gift upon his mate. Just as before though, and much to his chagrin, the words felt terribly uncomfortable as he spoke them. He swallowed gingerly, scowling at the dry tickle they left in their wake and set his thumb and the crook of his forefinger to his throat in an effort to quiet the sensation. It felt a little like he'd just taken a deep, open-mouthed breath on a frigid morning, the cold snap making his throat dry in an instant.

After an irritated chuff of discomfort, he reached for the sink's tap and depressed its top. The water was allowed to run a moment before a little was collected in his palm, and he stooped to take a quick drink as he recalled his latest attempt from memory. A quick mental comparison between it and the 'perfect' example given by the translation program revealed that not only was he speaking a tad too quickly, but his haste had predisposed him to omitting the requisite stress on certain syllables. The separate words within his sentence therefore flowed together in a manner not dissimilar to the gentle flow of his own mother tongue. This effect though, while affording him a measure of ease in speaking the words, would do nothing to assist his Siha's understanding of them. The risk of her mishearing them was simply too great, and his message was too important to risk its comprehension on a mistake of elocution.

The habit _had_ to go.

After another quick sip of water, Thane resolved to try again. He took a final look back at his last attempt, adjusted a syllable or two and gave it another go. And this time...having slowed down appreciably and enunciated with cautious precision...he was marginally happier with the result. True, it was a little forced, and sounded nothing like the dulcet purr he wished to issue his words in, but he was getting closer to what the program had demonstrated and that, at this stage, was what mattered.

Loathe as he was to admit it to himself however, especially given his progress, there was still a problem in there somewhere. A syllable that was making his otherwise... _passable_...diction hiccough. Again, he tried...and again...listening carefully...until on his fourth repetition he pinpointed the problem.

'I'.

First person singular.

That word, not the others, was making the rest of the sentence sound off-kilter. And of all the luck, it was the easiest of the lot.

A guttural " _Ugh_ " of disdain echoed up from low in his chest, his lips pulling around it in a tight scowl. Goddess of oceans, the way things were progressing he seemed fated to make a fool of himself in front of his mate!

Mightily peeved at his beleaguered attempts, Thane set his fingers to his neck once more, rubbing at the pleated skin blindly in an effort to ease his complaining throat. Despite his discomfort though, he was resolute. Committed. And even if progress was difficult, and his failings were of the most embarrassing kind, he was getting _better_. This had to be overcome, for his pride's sake if nothing else. Humiliation was not something he could do enough to avert. He was already risking it in even attempting to speak in an utterly alien dialect, and he wanted the chance of catastrophic failure reduced to an absolute minimum.

In the hope of finding inspiration to help solve his problem, Thane allowed himself a moment to recall what he had learned from his, albeit brief, foray into English. The translation program had advised him to pronounce the troublesome word 'aye', which, compared to some of its other offerings, was comprehensible enough. He understood the logic, and could even mime the word as the program repeated it for him.

But getting it past his vocal chords correctly?

 **HA**!

His attempts saw him emphasising the 'ye' part of the word quite heavily, ending it with an abrupt 'ih' in place of the smooth flow through the syllables prescribed by the program. The word came out 'Ah _yeee_ ih' instead of the smooth, clipped 'aye' he was aspiring to.

Hearing this same problem reoccur on his fifth repetition, he decided to persevere. Instead of following the program to the letter, as he had done in proper observation of his place as a _very_ new speaker of an incredibly foreign tongue, he spoke the word without trying to force native pronunciation.

"Ah-ih"

...

Now _that_...

That sounded...acceptable.

A little gravelly, and possessed of an obvious break in the syllables not present in the 'proper' version of the word, but those minor missteps were excusable in the grand scheme of things. The fact that he could get both ends of it out in a range his mate would be able to hear clearly was more than enough for him. And, as an added bonus, his throat wasn't forced into contortions to try and accommodate the elongated 'eee' as the program advised.

Levity got the best of him then, in light of this mostly positive result, and he returned the grin his reflection gave him, mentally urging the gentleman in the mirror to try _one more time,_ _for sport's sake if nothing else_. And try he did,

"Ah-ih..."

 _Yes_...yes, that should work nicely.

To ensure complete success however, he knew he'd need to see if the translation program could comprehend his phonetic creole, and that meant fetching his Omni-tool from the room beyond. If it could not follow his attempt, his Siha would be equally lost when he spoke to her, and that could not be risked.

Luck though, it seemed, was not on his side. No more than a reach's distance from opening the door between the restroom and the Loft's designated 'study' area, Thane heard the tell-tale hiss of the room's main door opening and then sliding to. He stopped short, tapped the 'lock' button on the door's interface, held his breath for a beat and listened carefully. The door was thin enough that he could pick out the sound of one set of booted feet entering and he assumed, logically, that they would be Shepard's. This room was quite rightly off limits to the crew unless they had her permission to enter, and thus far only he had been allowed to come and go freely. Next came a low huff of breath, and the clack of a number of data pads being sat haphazardly on her desk. A few seconds of almost-silence passed then, the soft click of a couple of computer keys sounding and then fading, as Shepard's steps did, as she moved off and wandered deeper into the room.

Only then did Thane return to the mirror.

Once there, he gave his discarded translator a measured glance. His options were clear. He could either simply act as though he had finished whatever business his mate would assume he was conducting, wash his hands for effect, reattach his UT and emerge to greet her as he always did when retaking her company. His plan could be postponed until a more opportune moment presented itself. Or...and his gut was listing sharply towards the 'or' option...he could leave the UT where it was and go out and greet her _properly_. As he had planned to, and had been actively working up the nerve to, for over a week and a half now.

His Siha, in the end, decided for him.

...

"Afternoon Thane!" she called.

... ...

Utter stillness overcame him in a heartbeat, his eyes snapping wide in the mirror at hearing Shepard's voice without the buffer his translator provided. Her voice was all sharp tones, flat syllables, and unintelligible words; a stark contrast to the resonances and harmonies of his own people.

Quickly though his focus shifted from the fact that she had spoken, to the questions of what she'd said and to whom she had said it. The first would presently need to remain unanswered, his grasp of English so tentative that he could count the words he could speak and understand on one hand. And even that scant total was ambitious since it included his best phonetic approximation of his Siha's name.

But the second...the question of whom she spoke to...that he could deduce from information readily available to him.

She had entered alone, of that he was certain.

Her conversations across the general comms channel often lasted for minutes, not the span of a single breath, and were always broadcast into the room, not through her personal communicator...Had she contacted someone, he would have heard whomever it was reply as clearly as he heard her speak.

EDI was as silent as she ever was unless called upon, and the lack of an instantaneous response to his mate's words negated the AI as a possibility.

And that left him.

She'd just directly addressed him, he was sure of it.

And for all she may not have expected a response then and there, his being in the washroom and assumedly indisposed making one uncalled-for, the spike of adrenaline brought on through knowing he'd just been spoken to would have sent a less composed man up the wall.

For a minute that felt like a second he simply stared himself down, willing a calm he wasn't sure he could muster.

Unsure of what to do with himself suddenly.

Logic dictated, since Shepard hadn't seen him for a number of hours through her shift, that she had spoken a greeting to him.

While he knew he could get away with not answering her, citing his use of the facilities as the reason for his disinclination to respond, he would feel dishonest in doing so since, truthfully speaking, the excuse was invalid. He was not indisposed at all, and was certainly not using the loo. He was procrastinating over how best to tackle this unexpected turn of events.

And since he was able to respond, coiling nerves in his belly or no, politeness demanded that he do so. Or at least not keep his Siha waiting overly for his response.

But how to give it, if he was to give it at all?

...

An acknowledged possibility was quickly reattaching his translator, speaking his greeting in words his mate would recognise, and then removing it again and going on with his plan as he had hoped to. He gave serious thought this course of action, contemplating it while chasing the little silver disc across the ledge it sat on with his fused fingertips, though discarded it when he realised that having no idea what she had actually said to him would make his response little more than guesswork. If he said something utterly off kilter, he not only risked embarrassment on his part, but also faced the prospect of having to explain how he misheard her from so small a distance away.

Giving his translator a final poke, Thane returned his mind to assessing his options, a frown drawing his brows together as he reached a conclusion. Even with his commonsense screaming that going on with his plan as before and haphazardly speaking what he hoped to on the spur of the moment was not only careless, but also foolish and indelibly risky...he couldn't bring himself to take back the steps he'd taken getting to this moment. Couldn't just clip the translator back on and give in to the nerves in his belly.

He doubted he'd work up the nerve to take it back off again if he did, and that, having been presented with the opportunity to act now, was unforgivable. Still though, he didn't move an inch; neither to reach towards the 'safety' of his translator, nor to head towards the door to set his tentative plan in motion. As he had when contemplating his words earlier he found himself in need of guidance, and this time he sought Shepard's, if indirectly.

Looking his reflection in the eye again, Thane turned the scenario facing him around, imagining how he'd feel if his Siha came to him and spoke tender words in **HIS** mother tongue. He'd think she was brave, certainly – his native language being almost impossible for non-Drell to speak perfectly given the encompassing range native voices utilise. Indeed a hearty third of the language, that concerned with elocution and tone, would fall out of the Commander's range of hearing entirely. Thus, while she may be able to vocalise the words required to convey an impassioned declaration of love for example, and while he would know in his soul that she meant every word, she would not be able to create the subtle tones that lace the words with the emotion behind them.

Humans simply lack the physiology to make doing so possible.

He'd think she was thoughtful too, of course. And dear. So terribly dear, for having practiced so hard and for making the effort to learn a smattering of an utterly alien language, purely for the purpose of expressing her affection for him.

And if she made a mistake, or missed her pronunciation?

If he made a mistake or missed his pronunciation?

Would she goad him? Or laugh? Or would she simply be as stunned as he would be if their positions were reversed, and she had been the one trying her level best at taking this little step closer to him?

Meeting his reflection's eyes once more, Thane allowed himself one breath's worth of silent self-abasement. _Do you honestly,_ _ **HONESTLY**_ _think she would demean your effort?_ he castigated, scowling at the thought and its implications for Shepard's character.

 _Of all the people in the galaxy she is the one with whom, for small moments, you may show your uncertainty...with whom you may be...weak...without fear of rebuke or judgement, and here you judge her for something she has not done, and likely will never do!_

His glower eased however as his thoughts on his mate's hypothetical effort at speaking his tongue doubled back on him and came to the fore of his mind once more. She may think him brave...thoughtful...and dear for his efforts. True, he couldn't count on his foreseen reactions to her efforts being indicative of her own to his...but the promise of even a possibility of such things resulting...well, it made what he thought of as a risky venture in sharing his few words with her seem, at the very least, worth the risk.

But he would have to let her know.

He would need her to understand what was happening as it happened, or the moment ran the risk of being sabotaged by a misunderstanding. Unlike his worries about actually speaking the words however, this problem was easily solved. On his way out of the restroom Thane picked up his once discarded, still inactive translator and slipped it neatly into the cuff at his left wrist. He would let Shepard keep it as he spoke. Present it as part of his gift to her even. A gift of words facilitated, since she would hold the 'voice' she recognised as his, by she, herself.

* * *

The Commander toed off her boots, set them aside, and flopped back against her divan's nearest pillow with a tired huff. She was pulling at the high collar of her uniform when she heard the washroom door finally hiss open and Thane's light steps re-enter the room proper.

"Down here Thane" she called, giving the stairs leading down into her sleeping area a sidelong glance. He came into view just as she sat up to greet him, her collar tugged wide; her smile, wider. And...almost instantly...she sensed that something was odd. It wasn't his lack of response to her pseudo-greeting that did it. He had never been the most verbose man, and often eschewed speaking a greeting to her in private until he was within whispering distance of her ear.

No...it certainly wasn't that...

It was his stance. How he held himself as he descended those few steps. He moved with all the cultured grace she knew he possessed, and yet, there was a shadow of hesitation about him. She saw it in the set of his shoulders, and in how his head was pulled back very slightly - his chin lowering a scant fraction of an inch towards his chest as he met her gaze and gave her a modest smile.

He'd explained that gesture, that little dipping of the chin to shield the throat, to her once. Far be it from a literal attempt at _protecting_ his throat...he knew she posed him no threat, and had indeed _welcomed_ her touch upon the pleats he now 'hid' on numerous occasions...the gesture expressed reserve and caution. Nerves even. For all she couldn't know its cause, Shepard knew nervousness had no place between them. Turning slightly in her place, she let the affection she felt for her seemingly edgy mate warm her smile as she spoke, her tone gentled as far as her limited practice at doing so allowed.

"Hey there..." she said, spending a moment on playful mimicry and dipping her chin as he had his own... "What's this now?"

She had hoped from an explanation, or a little witty banter before they took their time in getting reacquainted properly. Perhaps even the making of a plan to deal with whatever had uneased him. But she got none of those things. Instead she was raising her arms to receive him before she could draw breath to repeat her question, and found herself gathered to his chest with such haste that she had to smother a startled yip.

He was suddenly everywhere...the warm weight perched beside and before her on the couch...the arms curled about her...the nose and lips hidden against her neck...the edge of a frill touching her cheek as he lingered near...the muffled syllables she didn't quite catch spilling, with his warm breath, over her skin. It was all _him_. The experience was frankly glorious after an entire shift without having so much as passed in the hall, and the thoroughly captured woman allowed herself a good five seconds of simply reveling in the feeling before she even thought to return her beau's embrace. When she did, she could feel the minute shifts he made to edge all the closer to her. Easing her left arm around his mid-back allowed him to close an inch between them. Curling the right up around his opposite shoulder lost them another, and let her cup the base of his skull in her palm. And they settled...just like that...closed-eyed and silent but for their breaths for a period neither would think to specify.

For Shepard, it was a moment of blissful re-connection with he who she patently adored.

For Thane, of course, it was that too. Gods he did miss the woman when he had to spend time outside her company. It was hardly the case that they could express their affections overtly in public, even when they did cross paths. It simply wasn't proper, circumstances being what they were. So these moments when he could simply relax and become soused with her presence were everything to him. But added to that - added to the ability to finally, after a long day, bask in the considerable warmth of his Siha's embrace - these _particular_ silent moments gave him a chance to recollect his jangled nerves in a place, indeed in **THE** place, where he felt most at ease. Despite the fact that he was now front and centre before she for whom he had a deeply important message, that he would convey in a language he could barely use, he could not bring himself, while in her arms, to dwell on the worries that plagued him before she arrived.

Even when he felt her ease a respectful few inches between them, just enough so she could speak while looking him in the eye, and even though the words she spoke made not one lick of sense to him he didn't fret.

He smiled.

And spoke back.

Simple words...Just enough for his mate to get a sampling of his 'real' voice...

But he didn't fret.

...

She did.

"Whoa whoa! Hold on! Just a second!" she yelped, startled at hearing a voice she didn't recognise as his leaving his lips. Moving quickly she sat back and reached for her collar. A moment's fiddling let her unclip her UT and hold it out to him.

Obligingly he looked between it – small and silver and sat in her palm, the tiny dot of light in its centre signifying its being 'active' – and her carefully crafted 'questioning' expression.

"Where's your..." she began, mindful, in sparing him the rest of her sentence, that he wouldn't understand a word she'd said.

He watched as she shook it gently in her palm, giving the impression that he too was surprised that a problem in communications was transpiring, and smiled as she balanced the little device on her knee and set her fingers to his collar to search out his own UT; intent on ferreting out the problem and getting it fixed as soon as possible so their evening might resume as normal.

When she came up lacking though - when a thorough search of the usual spots came up empty - she began to warm to the idea that a game was afoot. Giving him a sideways glance, one corner of her lips tugging up in a little almost-smirk, she murmured, "What're you playing at, Krios?" again knowing that he likely caught not a word.

And she was correct. He understood nothing of what she spoke, though that last word was familiar to a point. Her general tone however - not the intricacies of it, but the general tone of her voice and the look on her face - yes. Those he could read with some skill.

Playing along with her as best he could, he smiled gently; innocently even. Curiosity suffused his gaze at the thought of how this rather candid turn of events might play out, and again, he spoke. 'It isn't broken...' he said, giving her UT a little tap where it sat, indicating what he was talking about even though she hadn't a hope of understanding his words. 'I've switched mine off.'

And she seemed, in spite of the language gap, to follow what was going on quite aptly. Indeed she nodded, scooped up the once poked translator and gestured to him...reaching for him again and plucking gently at his collar...at the buttoned front of his shirt...even going so far as to stroke along the seams of his pockets...indicating all of the usual places his currently AWOL translator might hide.

"Where's yours?" she said, again losing him entirely with the words themselves. The situation though he could read quite easily. Giving her his best disarming smile in the hope of minimising any possible chastisement for his ruse, Thane produced his still inactive UT from the inside of his cuff and sat it in the same spot where her own had once balanced.

Two seconds passed then, as Shepard stared at the demurely placed disc. The first was spent in amused bewilderment at her suddenly playful beau's antics. And the second saw her snuffle out a mildly self-deprecating, "How the hell'd I miss that spot?" before she gave a soft chuckle and picked up the translator in her fingertips. She turned it around a couple of times, looking at it closely and comparing it to her own before she figured out the problem.

"It's off..." she said to no one in particular, looking at her mate with unconcealed confusion. She was still smiling faintly though...she had made no move to turn the thing back on...and he was truly grateful for that as he drew close to her again.

The moment was his to guide.

The message he had was his to give.

And he listened uncomprehending as she murmured a curious, "What's the game Thane?"

In response he shook his head just once, and made sure she was watching him as he turned both UT's over in her palm. Hers soon joined his in being deactivated for the interim...for if this was to be done, it would be done to completion. Properly. As he had planned. Both of the little discs were then deposited by him on the coffee table, all under the watchful, loving, though admittedly bemused gaze of his mate.

Turning to face her again took a little more courage than he would have liked, but there was no backing out now. She had trusted his 'word' thus far, even though she understood not a single one he'd spoken, and she hadn't reacted badly to actually hearing him speaking without the UT. Thus, their eyes met with only the barest encouragement from her - the lightest touch of fingertips to his chin when his gaze lingered too long upon the discarded devices. After a moment she spoke again, carefully, a hint of worry escaping into her eyes at his protracted, pensive silence.

"Thane?"

And he answered, pouring every ounce of hope and affection he could into the words he spoke,

"Ah-ih..luff..yuh..Mh-yahl.."

...I love you Amial...

The silence between his declaration being spoken and her reaction couldn't have been longer than a second or two...During it though, Thane's heart stood still...and he waited...His mind whirled...

Had she understood?

Should he repeat himself?

He was about to do just that...but then...Dear Gods her _face_...It lit up like the sunrise.


End file.
